Resurrection
by T'Layna MacMathain
Summary: Advisory: Strong language, graphic violence.--A Goth girl buys an unusual piece of jewelry from a curio shop and discovers it is enchanted with an ancient spell.
1. Strolling Throught the Park One Day

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This is a story is based on the Gargoyles universe created by Greg Wiseman and Michael Reaves. Gargoyles and related characters are registered trademarks of Buena Vista Pictures and Walt Disney Studios. The stories and characters not described above are original creations of T'Layna MacMathain, and Poison Thorns Productions. Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.

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Resurrection

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By

T'Layna MacMathain

Chapter 1

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Strolling through the park one day...

It was a typically chilly afternoon in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. Golden Gate Park is the largest park in San Francisco, covering over five square kilometers of land. The park itself is a one-kilometer wide strip of land that begins at San Francisco's famous Haight-Ashbury district extending westward to the ocean. The park's open terrain often acts as a natural conduit for the chilly offshore breeze that precedes the fog as it blankets the city in a gray blanket at night. The park is large enough where a person can wander in and get lost enough to feel totally out of the city, yet still be within the city limits. There are many patches of wooded land that homeless people often gather and hang out, or in some cases, solitary people can be by themselves. Loneliness was not an unfamiliar feeling for the odd, thirty-something woman that was wandering in the woods on the park's eastern side late one June afternoon.

She was dressed in the typically dark style of the Goth. Her face was festooned with the ghostly pallor and heavy makeup that enhanced her features in a morbid way that many women and men found attractive. Her crimson-streaked purple hair peeked out from the black lace veil that she wore on her head. She wore a flowing, ankle-length black velvet dress accented in black lace. Slender, delicate arms were covered with long, delicate lace gloves woven into a cobweb pattern. She wore a silver chain about her waist, which ended with a small silver skull on the free end. A number of rings decorated her black-tipped fingers with an assortment of skulls, vipers, spiders and other morbid imagery. The only other piece of jewelry she wore was an unusual pendant she recently purchased from an odd curio shop in The Haight called Gargoyles just hours ago. The pendant itself was unique. It consisted of a winged dragon wrapped protectively around a blue stone that had an unusual shimmer that the girl found to be very appealing. The dragon's face bore an expression of defiance as if to challenge the viewer to try to remove the stone protected with its serpentine body.

Her friends, what few she had, knew her only as Viper. She was originally known as Dennis Morgan, born of a religious family in Kansas City. He had never felt right from the beginning about which he was inside and eventually moved to San Francisco three years ago. Throughout his life, he always wondered why he felt more like a girl than a boy did. His parents were always evasive about the subject, but instead subjected the youth to religious counseling and church-dominated psychiatry. Instead of "curing" the confused lad, it only made him worse. Suicidal depression and morbid writing became the kid's life. When he turned thirty, he departed for San Francisco.

When he arrived in San Francisco, he ran into an odd woman his age named Raven. Raven immediately sensed something different about Dennis, who was just beginning to experiment with the Goth look and was now known as Skull. Raven then introduced him her mother, an aging activist, writer and mystic known as Lady Spider. Unlike all other adults he met in his life, Lady Spider turned out to not only be very understanding, but also was a wealth of information. She then directed Dennis/Skull to a number of resources that she felt would benefit the tormented kid. Curious about his origins, and feeling like there was some cover-up about his origins, he learned that he was born intersexed, or with both sets of genitals. As is often the case, his parents arbitrarily opted to make the infant a male, as a result of both patriarchal privilege and of the father's misguided obsession to pass on his legacy to a son. Little did his parents or the doctors realize that they had made a terrible choice. For the baby, it meant a childhood and adolescence of misery, internal conflict and often mental or physical abuse at the hands of the so-called normal kids.

That was two years ago. Thanks to Raven and Lady Spider, she was now living a woman's life scrabbling for what few dollars she can from her writing and art to pay for the surgery that will correct the grievous blunder her parents made years earlier. Still, the life of a transgender was never easy, even in ultraliberal San Francisco. When her life became too stressful, she would often go to the park or a cemetery to just quietly meditate or write. Today was such a day.

Her trip took her to a small, secluded area about half a kilometer from the park's eastern entrance. She had been to this spot many time and was surprised nobody else seemed to care about this place. For her, that was a good thing, for she didn't want any human company. _Humanity can fuck itself for all I care._ As she settled down, she pulled out a small container and rolled a joint and indulged. Suitably stoned, she began writing more dark passages in her notebook that she carried in her ever-present backpack. As the sun descended in the west, she started feeling sleepy and reached into her pack to pull out a small blanket she sometimes used if it got too chilly. She drifted off to sleep.

She soon felt a tap on her leg. _Ignore it. It will go away_. She felt the tap followed by a soft voice telling her to wake up. _Great! The fucking cops are harassing me again! _She groggily woke and saw the voice was not that of the police, but a strange woman dressed in flowing, blue-white robes and warm, understanding eyes_. Damn, this weed's better than I thought, I am actually seeing faeries!_ She smiled. The woman was very slender and had long, pointed elfin ears that protruded from her flowing copper locks. Viper also noticed the unearthly glow emitted by the woman. _At least it isn't a freakin' cop! I got enough problems_.

"Pardon me for being stupid, but just who the fuck are you?"

"I am a servant of Oberon." The strange woman replied.

"Oberon? Now I am confused. Who is Oberon?" Viper replied warily.

"Oberon is ruler of the Third Race, whom your kind know as fae." The apparition's face began to show a more concerned expression. "You are in much turmoil."

"How observant." Viper replied, the sarcasm dripping like venom from a fang of her namesake, "Now what do you want with me?"

"Unknown to you, there is great danger afoot from the nether realms. You will be a key in the coming battle along with your closest friends. You wear the Dragon Stone. You will fulfill the Prophecy. It is your destiny."

"This cheap trinket?" Viper replied with laughter, "Whatever it is you are smoking, I want a kilo of it. Got to be better than what I am tokin'."

"The 'trinket' as you call it is gifted with magical powers." The fae replied unfazed by the barb; "Though you live in turmoil, your heart is pure and your spirit is one of the Second Race. As sometimes happens, you were not born as you were meant to be." That remark jolted Viper. How the hell does she know that? "Though it is unknown to you, your human ancestors once protected a clan of the Second Race from certain extinction by your kind more than a millennium ago. Though the ones your clan protected those ages ago now dwell in the mists of Avalon, you are the one that will revive them in your time."

"Uh, what is this Second Race? Is there a First Race?"

"You will find out soon. As for the First Race, that is humanity. Be forewarned that you should leave this place and be somewhere safe before daylight."

"Why me? I am nobody special. Why do I have to be 'someplace safe' by daylight?"

"Trust in Oberon's grand plan. You were chosen simply because you can understand things others choose not to. Your mind is open and you are a natural leader. You also understand suffering and you want justice and peace. The Dragon Stone will guide you to your comrades. When you find one as you, the stone will glow. Touch them with the stone. Magic will do the rest." With that said, the strange apparition vanished into the night.

Viper stood there in total amazement. She soon heard the sound of voices. One of them crackled from a radio. She instinctively knew it was the police. Well, they can't catch me before I get out of the park. She smiled and silently gathered up her property and quietly slipped out of the park undetected. When she got out into the streets, she saw the police more than two hundred meters away and not the least bit interested in her. She smiled as she walked over to Hayes Street and caught the first available bus back to her apartment in the Tenderloin.

While riding the bus back to her apartment, she noticed a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair that was the shade often referred to by her family as 'grunt' brown. Viper almost thought she was looking at a mirror. This girl looks a lot like I did two years ago when I got here. The girl looked very much out of her element. Viper rose and sat next to the troubled girl.

"Where are you from, kid?"

"Salt Lake City. You probably want nothing to do with me. I'm probably too dull and normal for you."

"Then why are you in San Francisco? This ain't exactly the Mormon Tabernacle you know?"

"The Mormons would just as soon watch me die. At least I have a bit more freedom here," she bitterly remarked. 

"My name's Viper. I know it sounds morbid, but in reality I am a struggling artist who likes to look like the undead. My real name is Denise. Denise just doesn't fit this image the way Viper does," said Viper with a sweet smile on her face.

"My name is Ariel. I just got here a week ago. I am out on the streets tonight. I missed the stupid curfew at the shelter."

"Come with me, dear." Viper declared, "I can spare some floor space for a night. There is no point in you being out on the mean streets tonight. When was the last time you ate?"

"This morning. At the shelter, and it was barely edible at that."

"I don't have much, but I do have some leftover chicken and veggie soup. Tombstone made it for me. He's my roomie and also a Goth like I am. We're not involved romantically since I am lesbian. He goes both ways. Still, he does pay his share of the rent."

"You are a lesbian? So am I!" Ariel declared proudly. "That's what's got my parents and the Mormons all pissed with me." Fifteen minutes later and a ride up a creaky old elevator in an equally run down apartment building, the two women entered Viper's apartment. Ariel's mouth dropped open when she saw the decor. It looked like medieval castle dungeons from the tenth or eleventh century. In an odd way, she found it appealing. One predominant theme was the number of small gargoyles hanging on the wall and as statuettes. There were also many dragons as well. Strangely, Ariel felt more at home in this morbid decor than she did at her clean, middle-class suburban home in Utah.

"I love what you did to this place!" Ariel said in wonder. "My parents would have called all this 'Satanic' and would call you a Devil worshiper."

"So would mine, dear." Viper replied knowingly, "My parents were totally religious to the point of fanaticism." Viper went into the refrigerator and removed a small container and tossed it into the microwave. Fifteen minutes later, the young girl was devouring the meal like a ravenous wolf. As the night wore on, the two women chatted and learned a lot about each other. Like Viper, Ariel's parents thought that religion was the ultimate cure-all for everything from the common cold to being gay or lesbian. Since Ariel didn't fit into the Mormon philosophy and gender roles, her parents tried to cure her much the same way as they Viper's tried to. Like Viper, the results were the same.

Two hours later, a key grated in the door lock and a tall, slender Goth male entered the apartment. Like Viper, he was dressed in black, but in pants and shirt with a long duster over the whole combination. Unlike Viper, his hair was naturally black and he wore only a large silver skull about his neck. In addition, his hands were covered with a claw-like gauntlets made of sterling silver. He took one look at Ariel and smile broadly.

"Fresh meat, Viper?" He wryly remarked.

"Forget it Tombstone! She's a dyke." Viper warned as she put a CD in the stereo.

"Ask me if I care? Just remember that the next time I bring over one of my boy toys." he replied with mirth. The eerie sound of one of the newer bands in the San Francisco Goth scene began filling the room from Viper's stereo.

"Yeah, right." Viper replied with comic sarcasm, "I was just fixing to roll a fatty. Want to join us?" He then sat on the futon and produced a bag of marijuana. Tombstone expertly rolled up two joints and flipped one of them over to Viper. She then lit the marijuana cigarette with a lighter that was embedded in a skull on the coffee table. Twenty minutes later, Tombstone and Viper were quite stoned. Ariel was not too thrilled about being in a strange apartment in a strange city with two equally strange potheads, but she had thus far been treated with respect. She also didn't want to spend another chilly night riding buses. Just the thought of it brought angry protests from her sore joints.

As the night wore on, Ariel listened to the many stories and experiences of both Viper and Tombstone. Viper glanced up at the clock and noticed it was approaching five AM. Viper reached into her closet and pulled out a cot and a sleeping bag.

"Tombstone jacked it from a shelter." Viper commented as she set up the temporary bed.

"Beats all hell out of Muni bus seats or cold pavement." Ariel replied appreciatively. She then noticed Viper removing some of the veils and lace. As the young girl's eyes moved to Viper's jewelry, she smiled. "I love that necklace!" the young girl commented as she studied the strange jewelry, "I love the way that stone glows."

"What did you say?"

"Your dragon pendant is glowing. That is so freakin' cool!" With that said, Viper looked down at the glowing stone in the protective dragon. Even the dragon's eyes seemed to be alive and aglow with an eerie blue light. A startled expression spread across Viper's face. She saw the beginnings of daylight outside her window. A strange, tingly sensation began flowing throughout her body as her ears began to fill with a crackling sound. Pleasant warmth began spreading through her body. She could see the alarmed expressions on Ariel and Tombstone's faces.

"Are you OK, Viper?" Tombstone inquired.

"Oh shit! Oh fucking shit!" Viper exclaimed. Five seconds later, Viper had turned into stone.


	2. Belynda

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This is a story is based on the Gargoyles universe created by Greg Wiseman and Michael Reaves. Gargoyles and related characters are registered trademarks of Buena Vista Television and Walt Disney Studios. The stories and characters not described above are original creations of T'Layna MacMathain, and Poison Thorns Productions. Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.

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Resurrection

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By

T'Layna MacMathain

Chapter 2

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Belynda

It was another typically chilly night in San Francisco's Outer Richmond district. The fog was unusually thick for an August night, even for a city that is accustomed to the nightly dose of the gray mists that is the trademark of San Francisco's unique climate. Fog is good, the young woman thought as she gazed out the window of the stopped 38 Geary bus. I can get lost in this stuff. Lost and alone was a feeling the woman was very much accustomed to, along with despair and hopelessness. 

She used the name Belynda Flores, discarding her given name like yesterday's dinner bones. Few people knew her birth name, and she didn't want anyone to. The name was never rightly hers to begin with, she bitterly reflected. That, along with all the trappings of a nice, middle-class existence in an Atlanta suburb was all left behind four years ago. Now she was on her own, and left to fend for herself by a strict, Southern Baptist family that wanted nothing more to do with her and her unconventional lifestyle.

She had fared little better in San Francisco. When she arrived, she did manage to get some work, but she soon lost her job because of her increasingly frustrated attitude. For the next three years, she scraped money by working odd jobs and fast food. Her evil temper and acid tongue soon earned her the nickname B'Elanna Torres after the temperamental engineer of the same name on _Star Trek Voyager._ This kind of reputation made it difficult to get steady employment. She eventually lost her apartment and property and wound up homeless on the streets of San Francisco, her only worldly possessions carried on her back in a black backpack decorated only with a large patch depicting an upraised middle finger. The patch perfectly reflected her attitude toward the rest of the world.

The bus lurched forward with a roar of its massive diesel engines as the light turned green. The woman just turned twenty-three, but looked barely eighteen. She was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular but controversial heavy metal band. She had shoulder-length raven hair that was arranged in numerous small-diameter braids. She wore a thin leather choker around her delicate neck that was bristling with single row of vicious spikes more than three centimeters long. Her waist was wrapped in a leather belt with three rows of closely spaced chrome pyramid studs. Her footwear consisted of a well-worn pair of Doc Marten's boots.

Belynda soon fell prey to the insidious insanity that life on the streets often brings. One night she tried to desperately get help from the city's health care system. When they failed to respond for her cry for help, she tried to make a new exit through the clinic's plate-glass door. Fortunately for her, the 'glass' was really a tough polycarbonate plastic and the girl merely knocked herself unconscious. An hour later, she woke up in San Francisco General Hospital's Psychiatric Emergency Service lockdown ward with a massive blue lump on her forehead. Less than eight hours later, she was released, none the better. She had spent the last two weeks in various shelters and soup kitchens.

She looked very much like the tough street punk, and had the attitude to match. She was an angry girl for the most part and very frustrated with her life. Tonight was no exception. She had missed the curfew at the shelter once again. That meant another night of "spanging" or begging for spare change for cigarettes and soda. Tonight's dinner would be obtained through "table scoring", a scam she perfected on her own by slipping into restaurants and finishing the leftovers left behind by customers before the busboy got to the table. Missing the shelter's curfew also meant all night rides on Muni's noisy busses, but it was safer than sleeping on the streets.

She got off the bus at the end of the line and walked toward the beach. The night was chilly and very foggy here. It was also very quiet. She walked about three hundred meters and found herself a quiet, secluded spot. She wished she could speak to her older sister again. She had been particularly close to Jaqui when they grew up. Jaqui was the oldest of the four children. Jaqui was a big girl, and also very protective of her siblings. Jaqui would fight anyone who harassed any of her siblings, especially Belynda. She remembered how it all started. 

One day Jaqui announced to the family that she was a lesbian and she was going to marry her long time classmate and girlfriend Patricia and she wanted her family's blessing. That resulted in a sermon of fire-and-brimstone preaching from her father, a lay Southern Baptist minister. Declaring that he would not have any "Satan-spawned faggots or deviant perverts bringing eternal damnation into his God-fearing Christian home!" he ordered Jaqui to pack her stuff get out before he decided to shoot her. Twenty-four hours later, Jaqui piled all of her worldly possessions in her beat up old Chrysler and headed off to parts unknown. Though she did try to write or call, her father made it clear that anyone who talked to that 'daughter of Satan' would suffer her fate. 

Belynda really missed her sister. In a way, it was Jaqui who created Belynda. One day when they were much younger, Jaqui dressed up her little brother Billy as a girl. Much to her surprise, Billy actually enjoyed being dressed up as a girl and one day he admitted it to Jaqui. Jaqui got an unexpected benefit from this. Billy, whom she named Belynda, had become in reality more like the kid sister she wanted but didn't have. As they grew older, she would dress him up on those occasions when they were alone together at home. It was Jaqui who would obtain most of Belynda's stuff and hide it in her room except the lingerie, which was secreted in Billy's closet. Jaqui knew her mother would spot them in her clothing during the laundry.

When Billy was seventeen, there was a near disaster when his father stumbled across his 'special collection' of women's apparel. When confronted by his father, Billy explained them as 'trophies' from his sexual conquests. Though complaining that it was a tacky practice, his father was relieved that Billy wasn't a queer. That was certainly more normal than his dyke sister was, therefore he accepted the story. All Hell broke loose when Belynda's father came home and caught Billy all dressed up as Belynda. She remembered the yelling and screaming from her father. For the next three months, the tension between his parents and Billy grew as they desperately tried to force Billy into their idea of 'normal'. That ended one day when Billy declared he was a transsexual and that he intended to become Belynda and get a sex change. Like Jaqui earlier, Belynda was forced to move out under penalty of violence from her father.

Belynda spread out her blanket on the sandy knoll and sat down and listened to the rhythmic lapping of the ocean waves. She loved the quiet solitude here on nights like this. She knew this would help bring out her creative side and she loved to write poetry on nights like these either here or in a cemetery with some of her Goth friends in her writing circle. Smiling, Belynda reached into her pack and pulled out a small casket shaped container. Opening the box revealed her pipe and a small amount of marijuana. She then loaded her pipe, lit the green herb and inhaled the pungent smoke, exhaling ten seconds later. Fifteen minutes later, she was quite stoned and relaxed. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small fluorescent lamp and her notebook. She was about to start writing when she heard a soft whooshing sound from above. Unable to see through the dark fog, she assumed the sound probably came from a seagull. She barely gotten one line written when she heard the whoosh again and this time it sounded a lot closer and a lot bigger than any seagull. She smiled broadly. Must be the weed, she thought. Danny really scored some kick-ass shit this time; she reflected and returned to writing.

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The journey began in darkness

Unable to speak

Unable to see

Thoughts burn in my mind

Like a thousand blazes...

Her reverie was broken by the crunch of the sand nearby. Alarmed, she switched the lantern into flashlight mode and pulled out her pepper spray.

"All right, dick breath! If you want trouble, you fuckin' found it!" She shouted defiantly into the mists with a lot more confidence than she felt inside. The scrunching sand sound approached as her light desperately probed the mist for the source. It was an old drunkard and he smelled like he fell into a sewer and drank an entire brewery. He was clearly intoxicated and reeked of body odor and urine. She relaxed. This guy was no danger to anyone except possibly from the foul smelling fumes emanating from his long-unwashed body and clothing. She watched him blindly stumble on and disappear into the mist.

She then switched the lantern back into fluorescent mode and returned to her writing. She was again interrupted by the sound of voices. She switched off the lantern and listened as the voices approached. At least the fog will hide me. She listened carefully. Three distinct male voices, they are definitely intoxicated. What's worse, she thought, is that they are heading her way. She had a bad feeling about those men. She began loading her pack when the fog lifted for a few minutes, allowing the full moon to peek through and giving the three approaching men a chance to spot her. A cry of excitement came from one of the men. Oh shit! They had spotted her! The biggest of the three pointed in her direction and began running in her general direction. As they closed in, she began to hear their comments, and crudely sexual ones at that. If those bastards catch me, she thought. She shuddered. She started to back away looking for an escape. The trio soon surrounded her.

The three men had started grabbing her clothing as she screamed for help. One big ape named Rico had knocked her to the ground, straddled and then sat on her body. He was the epitome of the ugly, drunken rapist. Weighing in at 125 kg, Rico knew the smaller woman was no match for his strength and mass. She fought the impulse to puke as she squirmed to try getting the grinning goon with three missing teeth off of her. She screamed for help again. Rico slapped her and held his knife in front of her. Rico then instructed the other two goons named Slick and Birdman to get the rest of her clothing off. Slick had grabbed their girl's arms and pinned them to the ground. Birdman then managed to get on top of her thrashing legs and she soon was helpless to resist Birdman removing her pants. Rico then used his knife to cut away her T-shirt and bra.

"You got nice tits, puta. I'm gonna love fuckin' you!" He said with an alcohol slurred Mexican accent. Belynda looked blankly into the night sky, her mind trying to block out the impending horror of rape. The three rapists were so occupied with their prize they failed to hear the whooshing sound of something heavy flying overhead. For some odd reason, Belynda heard the whooshing noise and saw something casting a dark shadow crossing in front of the fog blurred moon for a split second. She saw what she thought were two red lights in the sky. The next thing she saw was Rico's awful grin, the smell of his foul breath and his crushing weight on top of her stomach as he leaned over to kiss her. The scene was interrupted by a roaring scream that was so frightening that it actually made her blood run colder than it already was despite her current predicament. Her three assailants also stopped. They heard it as well and were looking around wildly to find the source.

Suddenly and without warning, the massive weight of Rico was off her stomach as something heavy and fast moving dropped out of the sky and snatched Rico up with a pair of massive, grayish paws tipped with three equally massive talons. She saw two brilliantly glowing red lights as Rico started screaming obscenities. Two seconds later, Rico's screams were replaced by the thudding plop of something heavy hitting the sand about twenty meters away. The two other rapists froze like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi, and felt about as safe.

"What the fuck?" was all that Birdman managed to say when Slick saw Birdman suddenly ascending into the sky. Birdman screamed as the massive talons dug into his shoulders and lifted him into the mist. Slick and Belynda heard his screaming obscenities as he disappeared from sight. Taking advantage of the situation, Belynda escaped and hid in some nearby shrubbery. Suddenly, there was silence.

"Rico! Bird!" Slick screamed in desperation. Slick was answered by the soft lapping of the ocean. Slick was suddenly all alone. Another heavy thud was heard only three meters away from Slick. He saw a dark object on the beach. As he approached, he realized that it was Birdman, and he was groaning in pain. At least the Bird was still alive, Slick thought with relief. When he saw Birdman, he was taken aback by the blood oozing out of his nose and on his shirt. Poor fucker sure got his ass kicked. He saw one other prone body just a few meters away and knew instinctively that it was Rico. 

"Man! What the fuck?" Slick muttered as he saw the condition of his leader. Damn! He looked like road pizza! Slick also saw the bloody shoulders and wondered who or what the Hell did this to Rico? Slick was starting to feel real fear for the first time in a long time. Like most thugs, he enjoyed causing fear, but now discovered that being on the receiving end was nowhere near as much fun. "Oh man and Jesus!" Slick moaned. Rico was probably one of the toughest guys Slick ever knew. Rico must weigh at least two-fifty, Slick thought and whatever and he instinctively knew it was whatever, not whoever, had whacked Rico into burger and did it with the ease of picking up a pencil. Taking no more chances, Slick pulled out a 9mm Taurus autoloader from behind his back and jacked back the slide, chambering a round.

Belynda cowered in the shrubbery as she watched the unfolding drama and enjoyed watching the surviving rapist standing there desperately trying to locate his assailant. She silently blessed her unknown savior and promised that she would throw one Hell of a party for whoever it was. A movement in the sky caught her attention. She watched with fascination as a dark shadow moved silently across the sky in a circular motion. Suddenly, the shadow dived like a falcon on a stoop for a defenseless rabbit out in the open.

Slick was nervously looking around, wandering if he just shouldn't get the Hell out of here and cut his losses. Still, he was in deep shit. He had to find that girl and cap her ass before she went to the police. He knew SFPD had a mug of him in their files. Slick had two violent felonies on his record, and he knew if he was busted this time, he was looking for a twenty-five to life stay at the San Quentin Hilton. Without warning, his gun was suddenly snatched from his hand by a powerful claw, breaking Slick's index finger in the process. He screamed in pain as he saw his damaged hand. He saw the awkward angle his finger now pointed and felt the warm wetness of blood flowing on his hand. With horror, he also saw the end of a bone jutting from the side of the finger. 

"Shit! Motherfuckin' compound fracture!" Slick roared. "Motherfucker! You are fuckin' dead meat! You hear me? Dead meat!" Suddenly something descended from the sky and landed in front of him. That something bigger than any seagull and with two sinister glowing red lights. 

As the figure emerged into the light, Slick saw for the first time what hit him. A grayish-blue creature stood, humanoid in shape, and that's about where the resemblance to humanity ended as far as Slick was concerned. The creature stood on two fetlocks with three massive talons on each tipped with massive claws. As his gaze traveled upward, he noticed the creature had wicked looking barbs on each of the heels, knees and elbows. The creature was definitely female and was actually quite attractive. Nice tits and ass, Slick thought, despite the thick, prehensile tail whose tip looked like a spade from a playing card. She was also dressed in a black leather halter-top and a black loincloth. The loincloth was secured by a wide belt and sported a nasty looking sword on one side and an oversized fanny pack on the other. It looked almost human, save for the huge pair of bat wings that were almost five meters across with three finger-like claws at the apex of each wing. He also noticed the wing's membranes were much darker than the rest of the creature. He noticed the creature had a beautiful human face with the exception of the four horns that emerged over her almond-shaped eyes curving upward that gave it a crown-like effect. He also noted that the creature had long, pointed ears like some kind of elf or pixie peeking out from her raven hair arranged in style similar to that of Tina Turner's.

"Pardon me Sir, did you lose a gun?" Asked the creature in a seductive voice, his 9mm lying flat in its outstretched paw. Slick watched with horror as the creature closed its talons around the weapon and crushing it into scrap. She then dropped the useless gun into the sand.

"Bitch! That gat cost me seven Benjamins!" Slick screamed. He almost fainted, but the pain of his hand continued to fuel his hate and desire for revenge. He had to cap this fuckin' flyin' freak show as well. He reached behind his back with his good hand and drew out a Balisong and expertly whipped out the 20-cm blade of the Okinawan weapon. Slick then lunged at the creature. The winged creature easily dodged his attack by leaping straight upward with her powerful legs, allowing him to run underneath her. He then wheeled around hoping to catch her only to find his knife arm in the iron grip of her claw just as effectively and just as inescapable as any steel shackle. She squeezed and crushed his wrist, bones cracking loud enough to be heard by Belynda. Slick roared in agony and dropped the knife and now was on his knees in abject fear. This creature had whacked all three of them with surprising speed and ruthless efficiency.

"Look, I can get some money or drugs whatever you want." Slick begged, hoping a different tack might get this creature off of his case.

"I do not care for your bribes!" The creature hissed as it picked up the terrified thug. Slick's bladder finally had enough and let go. He felt the warmth of his own urine flowing down his legs as he gazed helplessly in her glowing crimson eyes. "Heed my warning! If I ever catch any of your kind ever hurting her or anyone else, I will rip your hearts, lungs and livers out through your throats! Got it, slimewad?" Slick could only nod in abject terror. The creature lashed out with a right, catching Slick squarely on the jaw and knocking him unconscious.

Belynda saw the creature gather up the trio and secure them with plastic handcuffs. Feeling safe now, she emerged out of her hiding place. The creature heard her and whipped around to see whom it was, but relaxed as she recognized the victim. Belynda was startled and let out a scream and she turned, running.

"Fear not! I will not harm you." The creature called out. Too late, Belynda had disappeared. The creature then whipped out a small cell phone from the pouch and called in the police. The creature then climbed a tree, spread open its wings and launched itself into the night mists.

* * *

Inspector Jack Fujimori studied the pile of reports on his desk as he sat down with a grungy, residue encrusted coffee cup that had a capacity of about half a liter and seen countless liters of coffee. He looked at his cluttered desk with dismay. Humph! Just another typical night with a typical pile of cases courtesy of an overactive abundance of pervs, creeps and weirdoes, he thought sourly. A third generation American of Japanese descent, he was in surprisingly good shape for a cop pushing fifty. That was amazing in its own right considering he spent the last four years jockeying a desk at SFPD's Sex Crime Unit. He was proud of his excellent physical condition. He was also luckier than most. Inspector Fujimori could pack away enough food to feed a family of three and not gain a milligram. A fanatic about exercise and fitness, he spent many of his off-duty hours in SFPD's gym staying street-cop trim. Inspector Fujimori had run down perps that have eluded cops half his age.

Inspector Fujimori flipped through the cases assigned to him. Nothing unusual so far, at least as far as the officers who served in the Sex Crimes Unit defined unusual. The Inspector had an ugly job, but someone had to do it. He also derived considerable satisfaction whenever he solved a case and took a violent offender off the streets. He had no illusions that for every rapist, child molester and stalker he put away shielded another innocent person from the horror of rape. An attractive new officer named Richardson dropped off another case folder on his already cluttered desk.

"Merry Christmas from Lieutenant Garner. She wants you to do this one now."

"Crap! I've got enough work here for three cops now!" he complained.

"Sorry, Inspector, but you know how it goes." He snatched up the file from Officer Richardson and scanned some of the data. Attempted 261 on the beach. His curiosity grew as he read the arrest report. The arrest report recorded an incident where an anonymous caller reported an attempted rape. When the black-and-white arrived, the officers were surprised to find three seriously injured men securely bound with plastic cuffs along with the remnants of a bra, a pair of knives and a 9mm Taurus autoloader, model PT-92AF. The preliminary investigation traced the gun, which was reported stolen in a residential burglary in nearby Hayward a few weeks ago.

The 'vic', as police refer to the victims of crime, was nowhere to be found. That was not surprising. Most crime victims usually go straight to the police because of the outrage, anger and desire for vengeance they feel as a result of the crime. However, because of the intimate and highly personal nature of sex crimes, most victims are usually too traumatized to come forward for quite a while, and often never do. Either way, the vics in these cases usually wind up on psych meds or in psych wards making their value as witnesses questionable, especially in court. This made police work like his much more difficult and frustrating.

A scowl crossed his face as he took another sip from his monstrous coffee mug. His face took on a grimace as the bitter coffee tortured his taste buds. Shit, he thought ruefully, the damned city has got a one hundred million dollar budget surplus and can't afford a friggin' can of decent coffee? To the Inspector, that in and of itself was criminal. He returned to the task at hand. There was something odd here. The medical report from the hospital noted all three were injured, and all three bore unusual puncture wounds of 'undetermined origin.' There was also a bruising around the injuries that indicated a heavy, crushing force more consistent with being mauled by a large animal, say a bear or a maybe a gorilla.

The condition of the gun was equally strange. According to the report, the gun was described as 'crushed'. Crushed? He knew the Taurus wasn't a cheap Saturday Night Special, but a high quality military-grade firearm. This had to be the result of some dip-shit clerical error. No human being is strong enough to crush a gun like that barehanded. Obviously, I need to take a trip down to the evidence room, and straighten this mess out, he thought.

Inspector Fujimori then checked out the officer' names who filed the report, Sergeant Gianni Moretti and Officer Lewis Flynn. He knew the two cops who wrote the report personally. They often hung out at a nearby bar whose primary patronage was SFPD cops and deputies from the Sheriff's Office. Both officers were ones he worked with before, and they were experienced veterans with solid records. They sure were not the types to file oddball reports like this one. As he further read the report, he became even more puzzled when he read the section regarding the three perps.

Suspect number one was Ricardo "Rico" Rodriguez, a thirty-something gorilla of a thug that spent much of his life extorting merchants and illegal immigrants in the Mission. He also had an extensive record of violent crime and was a career criminal since age twelve. Inspector Fujimori knew Rodriguez. He popped him three years ago for domestic violence. The report also described him as being in SF General's Critical Care Unit with massive injuries that were described as consistent with injuries one would sustain in a fall from a height of approximately ten to twelve meters. He was puzzled. That was equivalent of a fall from a three-story building. He knew the crime scene, and there was nothing anywhere in the area tall enough that Rico could have fallen off of. He would be in no shape to shed any light on this case for quite a while. Rico was damned lucky to still be alive.

Suspect number two was Harvey Slaton a.k.a. Birdman. A twenty year old from the Tenderloin District who specialized in low-level drug dealing, petty theft, shoplifting and mugging the elderly, drunks and disabled people for their meager subsistence checks. This was Birdman's first sex felony. This is odd. Birdman's type rarely does anything as serious as rape, but there was always a first time for everything. Like his leader, he was also handcuffed to a bed in SF General's CCU barely alive.

The report described suspect number three as Thomas Littleton a.k.a. Slick. A 26 year old thug that grew up in San Francisco's tough Bayview District with a record almost a centimeter thick consisting of small time muggings, burglary and auto theft. He also had pair of 211's as well. He was the only one of the bound suspects who was conscious when the black-and-white arrived. His fingerprints were found all over the ruined gun. Inspector Fujimori smiled as he took a sip of his coffee. Even if I can't nail him for the rape, I got a nice weapon charge he can't dodge, he gleefully thought. 

During initial questioning, Littleton denied knowing anything about a rape or the gun, but claimed to have been attacked by a flying monster with giant bat wings and red eyes that glowed. He was also babbling about a warning or threat from this alleged monster. Asshole's probably doped all up, the Inspector surmised. That theory ended when he read the next report. Since they arresting officers smelled alcohol, they had blood taken from all three. The perps all registered alcohol and in the case of Birdman, speed, but Littleton had a blood alcohol of 0.07, just below the legal definition to be DUI. 

This case is going to be a bitch. The Inspector knew he needed to find the vic and see if she will cooperate. He was also greatly disturbed by the condition of the perps. Although Inspector Fujimori felt the three deserved what they got, the fact that someone intervened and severely injured the three thugs had the disturbing smell of vigilantism all over it. There was more than one crime here, especially in view of the threat involved. Sooner or later, vigilantes always cross the line and elevate themselves above the law. Those thugs were wrong, but Inspector Fujimori was sworn to uphold the law, and uphold it equally. To do less was criminal, as far as the Inspector was concerned.

* * *

Belynda was over at her friend Sunshine's home sleeping peacefully on the carpet. Sunshine was an aging blonde transplant from Brooklyn that supplemented her disability with under-the-table work and prostitution. They had met some time ago at a homeless shelter for women in the South of Market Area. For some odd reason, Sunshine took a liking to the young transsexual. She knew immediately something was amiss when the young woman showed up at her door at 4AM in a river of tears. After being invited in, Belynda removed her jacket, Sunshine immediately knew something was wrong. The girl had no top on or a bra. She also saw numerous bruises and scratches. Sunshine instinctively knew what happened and knew what to do. After calming the traumatized girl with a stiff drink, she went to her bedroom and produced a Nikon and asked her to take off all her clothes while she fumbled with a control on the back of the camera.

"This camera time stamps and dates each picture," Sunshine explained as she snapped several pictures. "The cops will want to see these injuries before they heal. They'll need 'em as evidence in case they catch the creeps. Can you describe the germs?"

"Yes. The cops probably already have them." Belynda related the tale of the attack at the beach, including the part about her mysterious winged rescuer. Belynda then broke down in tears. There was something in the girl's voice that told Sunshine she was telling the truth. There was also a nagging feeling that there was also something familiar about her story.


	3. Birth of a Clan

__

This is a story is based on the Gargoyles universe created by Greg Wiseman and Michael Reaves. Gargoyles and related characters are registered trademarks of Buena Vista Television and Walt Disney Studios. The stories and characters not described above are original creations of T'Layna MacMathain, and Poison Thorns Productions. Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.

* * *

Resurrection

****

By

T'Layna MacMathain

Chapter 3

__

Birth of a Clan

Cynthia Underhill was anxiously awaiting the end of class. It was the last class of the day and she was looking forward to coming to San Francisco for a night of fun and frolic. She sat and daydreamed all day in class for the most part. The professor in her last class busted her for daydreaming, but Professor Morrison was a ditz as far as Cynthia was concerned. She couldn't get her mind of that Goth guy she met at the club. Though she looked like a typical college kid from Suburbia USA, she would drop the image entirely and go Goth. She loved the way her deep red hair looked when she was all dolled up and so did Tombstone.

They had plans to go to the concert that was in San Francisco later tonight. A new band called Morbid Dementia had been making a big splash in the Bay Area Goth scene. Tombstone had agreed to let Cynthia come over and doll herself up in his apartment so they wouldn't be rushed when they went to the club. The ringing of the bell signaling the end of the school day broke her reverie. She hurried out of class and hopped the Muni Metro into downtown. Thirty minutes later she was walking into Tombstone's apartment. Her jaw dropped open when she saw the statue in the living room.

"Damn! I know Viper likes statues, but this is just too much." Cynthia remarked in amazement. "It even looks like her!"

"Only because it is," Tombstone remarked bitterly. "Well, it was Viper until this morning!" Cynthia also noticed Ariel sitting next to the statue. She was crying. Cynthia then asked the crying girl what happened. Ariel then recounted the events leading up to Viper turning into a statue. Ariel blamed herself for what happened and began to wonder aloud if this was some kind of curse heaped upon her by her parents. Cynthia could also tell that Tombstone was equally rattled by the events. Tombstone suddenly perked up.

"What is it?" Cynthia asked.

"I might know someone who can explain all of this. I only met her one time about a year ago, but she is very knowledgeable about stuff like this. She is a wise old crone who is known as Lady Morvyn. She is the adopted mother of Dementia, a girl I was dating at the time. She claims her spirit is three thousand years old. She is definitely a mystic and also claims to be a sorceress. If she doesn't know, she will know who does. I need to see if Dementia can bring her over."

"What about the concert?" Cynthia asked with indignation.

"Screw the concert. Although Viper and I are not lovers, we are still friends, and I always stick by my friends." Tombstone called up Dementia and asked her if she could bring Lady Morvyn over to his place. Fifteen minutes later, Dementia returned the call and told them to be expecting Lady Morvyn and a young Goth male known only as Axe.

Time seemed to drag on forever. After what seemed like an eternity, the intercom buzzed and a delicate voice answered Tombstone's query. He then gave her directions and released the door lock. Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Standing in the door was a Gothic version of his grandmother and a young Goth male of about twenty-five. As expected, she was dressed all in black and wore two pendants about her neck. One was a Celtic dragon, with wings spread. The other was a dog-like gargoyle with wings and a fierce expression on its face. A black lace veil was the only other garment she wore. Her fingers were done in a deep blood red and decorated with spider rings. On her forehead was a strange tattoo that consisted of six mystic icons arranged in a vertical column. She also had an ebony walking staff that was carved to look like a dragon's claw clutching a crystal sphere atop the staff. She looked every bit of the weird old witch.

The male Goth was dressed in a similar manner as Tombstone, but he wore a chain about his neck that bore a large ankh pendant. He also had a black cane that was wrapped in a brass dragon. His hair was as long as Ariel's, but in a deep blue with red streaks. Ariel was beginning to wonder if she and Cynthia was the only normal ones in this apartment full of haunted house escapees.

"My name is Tombstone."

"Yes, I remember. You were dating my daughter Dementia." Lady Morvyn said with a smile. "May I introduce you to Axe. He is Dementia's current boyfriend. He insisted on coming with me for protection. My family is very protective of me, as I am of them. I take it that this statue is the problem?"

"You have seen this phenomenon before?" Tombstone replied with amazement.

"Aye, lad." Lady Morvyn replied wistfully, "Many, many years ago in a previous life." She studied the statue with academic detachment. She then noticed the dragon pendant. Seeing that, she took her staff and held the crystal near the dragon pendant. The crystal sphere began to emit an eerie crimson glow. "Ye should worry not, lad. Your friend lives within. She is in metamorphosis. She is the messenger of the Prophecy."

"Messenger of what Prophecy?" Cynthia asked.

"Gather 'round laddies and lassies." Lady Morvyn said in the grand style of an old Scottish storyteller, "A thousand years ago in the Scottish highlands, a prophecy was written by a wise old crone in my clan, and handed down generations within my family. I am a direct descendent of the crone that wrote the Prophecy. The Prophecy stated that the messenger would bear the Dragon Stone amulet. The spell should end at sunset. All is well as it should be."

"Fantastic." Tombstone sighed with relief.

"Ye understand little, lad. This is only the beginning." Lady Morvyn warned, "For all of ye, myself included."

"What does all this have to do with me?" Ariel wailed. "She just fed me and gave me a bed for a night, and now she's gone! I know somehow that this is entirely my fault. I am cursed!"

"Yeah, what is this 'we' shit?" Cynthia shot back, "I'm not part of this circus act!"

"Fear not, little ones. Like all of us here, we were all destined to be here. This includes you, my dear children," she shot a stern glance toward Ariel and Cynthia, "Be forewarned that all of your lives will be different. We all will soon return to our..." Her words were interrupted by the sound of cracking stone. The four turned their heads to the source of the sound. It was the statue of Viper. A series of cracks began to form in the stone, white light seeping through the cracks adding a strange light to the apartment. Only Lady Morvyn was prepared for what emerged from the crumbling rock.

An ear-splitting roar that sounded like an enraged panther and a screaming eagle pierced the silence. A humanoid form with massive black bat-like wings emerged from the rubble. The creature was all barbs and horns. Amazingly, her dress though tattered somehow managed to cover her more intimate areas and at the same time looked kind of sexy. The creature was a light blue color and had a long, prehensile tail tipped with a series of wicked-looking spikes. The creature then spread its wings to an impressive span over four meters across. The apexes of each wing bore three digit claws. She looked like Viper, but different. Her face was still basically Viper's, but her ears were now long and pointed. She also had three horns above the eyes that almost resembled a tiara. The Viper creature then began examining itself and an alarmed expression took hold when she saw the three massive toes on fetlocks where her feet should be. She also saw that her hands now had only three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a strong claw. Though horrific looking to the others at first, Lady Morvyn smiled_. She is as beautiful as I remember them. _Another ear-splitting scream was heard followed by the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. The Viper creature had fainted. Cynthia and the others just stood paralyzed in total astonishment at the turn of events.

Lady Morvyn knelt next to the silent form of Viper and removed the Dragon Stone amulet from her neck. She then held it to each of the others in the apartment and noted with satisfaction that the stone glowed richly as it was held close to each person. She then touched her forehead with the Dragon Stone. The stone turned a deep red color then returned to blue. Lady Morvyn soon began chanting something in a long-lost language. She then reattached the Dragon Stone to Viper's neck. Satisfied, she then reached into her beltpak and pulled out a small pouch of something and sprinkled some of it on the nose of the fainted creature. Seconds later, she arose.

"What the fuck happened to me?" Viper roared, her eyes taking on a menacing red glow.

"You fainted." Axe replied. 

"Not that, you dork!" Viper hissed menacingly, "What happened to my body?"

"Fear not. You wear the Dragon Stone, and you are one of us." Lady Morvyn explained. "My name is Lady Morvyn, and I am the keeper of the Prophecy. You are the messenger of the Prophecy. The Second Race will be reborn."

"Second Race?" Viper remarked with obvious surprise, "That's what that weirdo fey woman said to me earlier."

"Fey?" Lady Morvyn asked, concern deep in her voice, "Was she a servant of Oberon?"

"She said she was."

"Did she have two other sisters with her?"

"No. She was alone. She had a strange voice for a woman, kind of gravely and deep."

"You actually know these people she's jabbering about?" Cynthia inquired her curiosity now thoroughly piqued.

"Trust in Lady Morvyn" Axe counseled the frightened and confused girl, "Lady Morvyn's wisdom is ancient and her knowledge spans millennia. I don't understand it all, for she is far older than I, but I have seen enough to know she is wise and just."

"Axe, me lad, you do an old heart justice," Lady Morvyn replied with a smile, "Aye, lass. That was Lady Titania in disguise. Her voice is distinctive." Lady Morvyn visibly relaxed. "Lady Titania is Oberon's mate and ruler of Avalon. Be very wary of a fey named Puck. His 'gifts' usually come with a high price and his humor borders on cruel. This can be a problem, though. Lady Titania never intervenes except in pending danger."

"How do you know so much about these fey?" Ariel asked with suspicion mixed with curiosity.

"One of my ancestors was fey. I am not fully human. In fact, I am the child of a fey and the Second Race. I only appear as human because of my ancient vow to Oberon to honor the Prophecy. Some of us were hidden among humanity as humans to escape humanity's shortsighted stupidity. Thanks to you, Viper, I will no longer need this form. Like you, I will turn to stone soon and emerge into a form similar to your own."

"What is this form called?" Viper asked, afraid of the answer.

"We are called Gargoyles."

"Wonderful!" Viper hissed, "I'm now a rain spout! Can you reverse this spell? I have no desire to be the world's only Gargoyle."

"No. That would require the powers of Oberon or perhaps the Lady Titania," Lady Morvyn explained, "When or if we get to Avalon, perhaps you could ask Oberon. It was their power that created the Dragon Stone. In just a few hours, you will no longer be alone. As I explained to your friends here, I will be turning to stone as you did and I will emerge as a Gargoyle." Ariel looked at Viper with an odd bit of fascination. She then returned her gaze to Lady Morvyn.

"You actually want to become a monster like that?" Ariel asked.

"Monster?" Lady Morvyn replied like a mother teaching an errant child, "Gargoyles are protectors, not monsters. Humanity has been far more monstrous than any Gargoyle ever has been save one. Tombstone, Cynthia and Ariel, your destinies lie with the Dragon Stone."

"Count me out of this crazy act!" Cynthia shot back.

"Me too," Axe replied, "I'm not ready to give up Dementia yet."

"Fear not, Axe, for you are not of the Prophecy. You are purely of the First Race. The others are blessed with the latent magic inherent to the Second Race." With that said, she removed the Dragon Stone from Viper and held it close to Axe. The stone did not glow as it did with the others.

Without warning, Ariel grabbed the Dragon Stone and held it in her hand. It began to glow with a rich, blue light. When she held it to Axe, the stone darkened, but when held to Tombstone and Cynthia, the stone regained its blue glow.

"Part of a Gargoyle's essence is magic," Lady Morvyn explained, "The Dragon Stone merely detects the magical component inherent to all Gargoyles. The Dragon Stone also contains the spell necessary to revert those of us in human form back to Gargoyles." As Ariel listened, the stone had begun to glow red. She dropped the Dragon Stone with alarm.

"No!" Ariel wailed. "Something is happening to me!" Seconds later, she had turned to stone.

* * *

Officer Rafael Ramirez was sitting back finishing off the remainder of a very greasy grilled ham and cheese sandwich. A portly cop in his mid-forties of Puerto Rican descent, he leaned back in his chair relishing the prospects for tonight's game. He couldn't wait till he got off duty. The New York Mets were in town to play the Giants. For once, the Mets were playing great ball, not to mention the Giants. This promised to be a great game. Ramirez loved baseball, and he hoped that the Giants would play in the World Series this year. He took another sip from the soda sitting on his desk when he saw Inspector Fujimori walk up to the window.

"Hey Inspector," Ramirez said, wiping off a morsel of cheese stuck to his lower lip, "Got a spare ticket to the game tonight. Mets are in town. First base side, near the plate. Want to join me later? Rizzo, Daniels and Harrigan will be there. We all got a nice section together."

"Damn! Sounds like you guys are trying to set up a precinct in the ballpark!" he laughed.

"Don't it though? What can I do for you today?"

"Raffy, I wish I could," sighed the Inspector, "Lieutenant Garner stuck me with a hotshot case. I need to see that PT-92AF that got brought in a last night from the 261 out on the beach. Some stupid clerk listed the weapon as being crushed. Here's the case number." He handed Ramirez some paperwork.

"Only because it is crushed. By the way, I'm the stupid clerk." Ramirez replied with mock indignation on his handsome Latin features.

"Really? Sorry, guy, I didn't know," replied Inspector Fujimori, properly rebuked.

"Forget it, pal." Two minutes later, Ramirez returned with a plastic bag with a yellow band across the face of it emblazoned with the word 'EVIDENCE' in large, red letters. "Fuckin' shame, you know? This was a damn fine weapon. The owner's gonna really be pissed." The Inspector nodded his head in agreement.

Inspector Fujimori looked at the distorted mass of steel and plastic. Whatever crushed this weapon was not a human being. This took a lot more force than any human being is capable of mustering without tools. He also noticed deep scratches and what appeared to be a deep puncture in the plastic handgrip similar to a large diameter nail puncture.

"Son of a bitch!" was all the Inspector could mutter. He handed the weapon back to Ramirez and left shaking his head.

The next stop on his itinerary for this morning was a trip to the NCIC computer. The NCIC was a nationwide network of computers that accessed a huge database of crime information shared among police agencies all across the United States. A pretty young African-American woman by the name of Denise was on duty this morning. Inspector Fujimori smiled. He always enjoyed Denise's warm smile and her sweet disposition, not to mention her ample cleavage. He wished everyone could be as positive and as happy as Denise is. It would sure make this world a lot better place to live in and probably a lot less violent as well.

"Hi Inspector Fujimori," Denise said with her trademark smile, "What can I do for you today?" She swiveled around in her chair, revealing a rich, chocolate-colored pair of perfectly sculpted legs. Denise's beauty was nearly legendary. One bedazzled and very heterosexual Lieutenant even remarked once he would consider a sex change and go lesbian for her. The Inspector, along with most of the men on the force wished she were not a lesbian. Not in a hateful sort of way, but one of injustice. The injustice of knowing that they can only look, but never have the chance to indulge. Denise was living with an institutional police sergeant over in the Ingleside District. Lesbian or not, Denise was one of those kind of very sweet and feminine women that everyone found impossible to dislike. She was also damned good at what she did, and that's what counted.

"I need you to do a wants-and-warrants on these three perps, and I need an M.O. run with these specifics." Denise took the spec sheet from the Inspector and started typing in the instructions to the NCIC computer. Seconds later, the data was sent upline into the network. 

"Check back by later today or tomorrow," Denise said sweetly.

Unbeknownst to Inspector Fujimori or Denise, there was a pair of "daemons," or robot programs, lurking within the NCIC system that lay in wait, scanning for information that contained specific key words. Though each daemon had a different author, they did the same thing. When they detected information with the specified keywords, they copied and relayed the data to specific terminals as per their instructions.

One such daemon directed Inspector Fujimori 's query to a tiny, cluttered office tucked away in the basement of a police precinct in Manhattan. Technically, the daemon was unauthorized and therefore illegal, but a cop wrote the daemon with his own considerable computer savvy, and since only a cop saw the data, it wasn't illegal per se, as far as he was concerned. He knew the system intimately and knew how to dodge the watchdogs that could get him in trouble with the brass. Not that anything like that ever really concerned him. He was very unorthodox in his approach to police work, and very independent. Most of his fellow officers considered him to be a flake and were often amused by his bizarre conspiracy theories and antics.

Detective Matt Bluestone was busy on a coffee break studying a case file that he had to review before going to court tomorrow on an immigrant smuggling case. He accidentally stumbled upon the smuggling ring while investigating some alleged secret CIA conspiracy that involved the Illuminati. This was typically what happened with Detective Bluestone. Over half of his major felony arrests were the result of pure accident more than conventional investigation. Still, the job of the NYPD is getting criminals off the street, and though the NYPD brass didn't particularly like the way Bluestone operated, they tolerated him because he was surprisingly effective.

The other daemon however, was an entirely illegal one. The intercepted data was sent to a computer through a highly sophisticated router with an embedded security subsystem that stymied all attempts at detecting the illegal data tap. The router triggered an audible alarm in the daemon programmer's computer room. The computer operator wheeled his way over to another bank of computers, slid out the keyboard tray, then typed in a series of commands. The data began scrolling on the monitor screen, eagerly absorbed by a softly glowing pair of yellow-white eyes.

* * *

As Ariel remained in her stone form, Lady Morvyn began to tell the sad and tragic story of how most of Gargoyle kind had been slaughtered over the years by humanity. Despite the strange events going on, Axe, Tombstone and Cynthia listened in rapt fascination. As she continued, Lady Morvyn noticed the tears in the corners of the eyes of Cynthia. Even Tombstone seemed to be more somber than usual. Viper was also listening, but also checking out her new form. After the initial shock wore off, Viper began to realize there were certain features that were appealing. 

"Can I fly with these things?" Viper inquired as she experimented with her new wings.

"Not fly as a bird flies," Lady Morvyn pointed out, "but glide on air currents more in the manner of a flying squirrel. Although Gargoyles are powerful creatures, our wing musculature is insufficient to actually propel you in flight. Usually, we jump off a suitably high enough structure like a high cliff, rooftop or a castle parapet and the air currents do the rest. If we are not high enough, we have powerful claws that allow us to climb up most anything, including solid stone walls."

The air once again filled with the sound of cracking stone. Thirty seconds later, Ariel emerged from her stone prison; casting gravel-sized pieces of stone everywhere. Ariel had emerged looking much like Viper, but Ariel was turquoise with deep blue wings. Unlike Viper, she had two long horns that curved over the top of her auburn tresses. Her wings were also different in the fact that they were tipped with a single, curved finger-like appendage at the apexes. 

"Shit!" Tombstone spat in comic disgust, "I just shoveled up a pile of rocks from Viper!" 

"Oh my God!" Ariel cried, "My mother is going to freak!" Viper came over to comfort her new sister. Ariel soon found herself in a warm embrace and wrapped in Viper's soft wings. Although frightened, the young Gargoyle found much needed comfort in Viper's sisterly embrace. They both knew that they were now sisters in spirit as well as in species now.

"Kids," Lady Morvyn said as she looked in the direction of Tombstone and Cynthia, "You are also going to be changing sometime today. Each of you touched the Dragon Stone, and thus the spell is already cast in you. I strongly recommend we find a suitable place on the roof of a building before sunrise." 

"Why?" Cynthia asked, irritation evident in her voice.

"Gargoyles have a unique sleep cycle. We sleep by day as stone and come alive at sunset. On the plus side, our recuperative powers during stone sleep are phenomenal. Even a seriously injured Gargoyle can be as good as new after only one sleep cycle. On the down side, there is serious vulnerability. Remember to always be aware of the time of day. You must find suitable and safe shelter before sunrise. When we are stone, we heal, but we are also extremely vulnerable and totally defenseless. If you are airborne when sunrise comes and you happen to turn to stone while you are three or four hundred meters in the air, you will fall like a lead pigeon and be destroyed on impact. Once we are broken in stone sleep, we die. Also remember that when we are stone, our density increases sharply. Ariel is the smallest of us and might weigh 60 or 70kg awake but will weigh as much as a Volkswagen when she's asleep. I doubt that the floor of this apartment can handle five tons of sleeping Gargoyles roosting on it."

* * *

Sunshine had spent much of the night in restless sleep. Something that Belynda said during her retelling of the story about the attack had tickled something in the back of her mind. The part about the crushed gun in particular. She had heard of something like that before, but where?

Belynda moaned and squirmed all night long. Sunshine shook her head. She had seen this too many times. She wanted to destroy every rapist in the most horrible ways she could imagine. She hated feeling that way because of them. The poor kid's going to take a long time to heal, she thought sadly. The girl started mumbling. Sunshine listened closely.

"Help!" the young girl muttered unconsciously, "Oh my God...monster...flying...nooo" and the girl returned to silent sleep. Flying monsters? What on earth is going through that poor child's head? The kid is having a nightmare. Odd, she did mention that there was a large bat thing when she recounted her ordeal. Sunshine thought it might be some kind of temporary insanity brought on by the horror of what happened to her. Belynda started mumbling again, her voice barely audible and slurred. 

Sunshine listened intently but only was able to make out one word. It sounded like 'gargle' or 'gurgling'. Suddenly the proverbial light bulb lit up inside Sunshine's head. She picked up the phone and dialed up long distance information. About ten seconds later, she was writing down the number offered to her by directory assistance. She then hung up and then redialed a number in the 212 area code. Five thousand kilometers away, a man in a small office in a Manhattan high rise picked up the phone.

"WVRN News, O'Connor here. May I help you?"

"Jerry, this is Sunshine in San Francisco. Remember the story about that attack on that clock tower in Manhattan a few years ago?"

"I ought to, I worked that story when I was coming up." He replied dryly.

"Trust me, get out here to San Francisco. A girl came to my place early this morning all banged up and with no top or bra. She said three men tried to rape her."

"So?" O'Connor acidly replied, "Why the hell should I fly all away across the country to cover a lousy story your local police beat reporter probably already covered or discarded by now. I can't even ask the boss on this one. After he laughs his ass off at me, he will bite my head off and my career goes swirling down the bowl."

"Oh, I think you will," she sweetly replied, "This girl claims she was rescued by a huge bat-like monster that flies. She said it attacked the three men who were trying to rape her and tied them up. She thinks the SF cops might have the three skuzzballs already in custody. She called the creature a Gargoyle."

* * *

Inspector Fujimori was busy munching on a stale doughnut when the phone on his desk rang. Quickly choking down the dry pastry with cold coffee, he finally managed to get his mouth cleared enough to answer.

"Inspector Fujimori here."

"This is Sergeant Duvall here. We're doing the scene here on that 261 case. I think you need to get over here to the beach, sir."

"What's going on, Sarge?"

"We found something mondo weird here. While we were shooting pics, we found some really weird footprints. They look like something that belongs in a zoo, I swear to God!"

"Stop what you're doing. I'm on the way!" He slammed down the phone and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. Officer Richardson had just entered the squad room when she spotted the inspector. She held up a file for him to grab.

"Park it on my desk, Richardson."

"Sir?" was all she was able to get out of her mouth, as the door to the squad room slammed shut. Shrugging her shoulders, she placed the file on his desk and walked back out with that derisive snort of disgust that only women can do.

He decided to put on the red light and speed up the trip to the crime scene. He arrived there and was relieved to still see the area cordoned off while the techs were photographing the scene. A young looking sergeant came up to the Inspector.

"Inspector, we've found something weird here. Never seen anything like it. We also found blood all over the place. We found this as well. He pointed over to a palm tree that was about ten meters tall. Look at these odd punctures." The Inspector looked closely at the punctures. They were arranged in clusters of three and four holes. The smaller holes were as large as dimes and the larger ones as large as quarters. Upon closer inspection, he noticed there appeared to be dried blood on some of holes. He also noticed distinct patterns in the holes. The smaller holes were in fours grouped in an arcing pattern and the larger ones were in threes, arranged in straight lines.

"Photograph and measure those holes," the Inspector crisply ordered, "I want a detailed analysis of any possible patterns that can make these odd punctures. I noticed some of them look like they have dried blood in them. Make sure you mark the locations. I don't want any screw-ups!"

"There's more, Inspector," Sergeant Duvall stated as he pointed to another area where small red flags were placed to mark evidence. The two cops trudged over to the area. The Inspector saw then why the sergeant decided to call him in. There were odd looking prints with three sharply pointed toes. Unlike a human footprint, these were more compact and much more circular. The indeed looked more like the paw prints of a large animal like a lion or bear. There were also strange, S-shaped tracks between the footprints as well.

The inspector noticed a bloody impact crater where the cop had pointed. He remembered that there was bloody sand on the perps. He then ordered the crater photographed and measured. He also asked the tech to calculate the height a person of Rico and Birdman's sizes would have to fall to produce those craters. Inspector Fujimori was leaving nothing to chance.

"I want detailed measurements here and plaster casts. Damn! This case is getting more Twilight Zone every minute." Inspector Fujimori muttered as he shook his head. His attention was soon piqued when he heard the shout of another technician.

"We just found this." The officer pointed to a backpack lying in some scrub. The pack was black nylon and had a large patch of an upraised middle finger.

* * *

Belynda woke up the next afternoon and quietly slipped out of Sunshine's apartment while Sunshine was in the tub. She was having a difficult time understanding what happened. She didn't even know what day it was or how she even got to Sunshine's place. She was also heartbroken to learn her pack was missing. It was all she had left. She began to wander aimlessly as the dusk became night.

She began to wonder if she was now being victimized by some unseen evil curse. She was going insane. She knew she was, and yet she also knew she was powerless to stop it. She had been hallucinating the night of the rape attempt. She felt damaged and freakish. She was unaware of the man that was eyeing her discreetly from a nearby alley just a few meters ahead. His jaundiced eyes blazed with malice as he smiled a predator's smile.

Snake was the moniker everyone knew him as. Life had been difficult for Snake. A former resident of Detroit, his family had moved to what they thought was a wonderful opportunity in New York. Things didn't go quite as planned for Snake's parents, and for much of Snake's childhood, he had little supervision. He soon fell in with a local street gang and went downhill from there.

His adult life fared better. Deciding that crime was easier and more profitable, he began a career of robbery, burglary and auto theft. He soon found suitable employment within the remnants of the Dracon organization as an enforcer. His ruthlessness and sneaky ambushes soon earned him the nickname of Snake. His luck took a turn for the worse as his drinking, gambling and drug use soon got him in disfavor with his employers. 

He returned to petty street crime. One night during a stickup of a bodega, his luck finally ran out. The clerk had tripped the alarm. He had just exited the front door when trouble in the form of two Gargoyles named Hudson and Goliath appeared. After serving a five-year sentence in Dannemora State Penitentiary, he decided to pull up stakes and get the heck out of New York and set up shop in San Francisco. At least there are no Gargoyles there.

Belynda suddenly felt a hand grab her arm in a painful, vise-like grip and pull her hard into the alley. As she stumbled off balance, her attacker continued his arc of motion, slamming the disoriented girl painfully into the brick wall. Belynda desperately tried to focus and react to this sudden danger. She soon saw a silvery flash followed by a soft metallic click as Snake popped open a switchblade. 

Belynda screamed in terror. Almost as a reply, she heard a blood-chilling animalistic roar. Oh God no! Not again! She heard that same roar before! She had just managed to get up and try to walk as something dropped out of the sky and landed softly just a few meters in front of her. Her eyes widened with alarm as she saw a man-sized creature with huge bat's wings silhouetted by the streetlights.

"Leave her alone!" the creature hissed, its eyes alight with a crimson glow.

"Jesus X. Christmas! Not here too! I'm outa here!" Snake groaned as suddenly dropped the knife and ran out of the alley screaming "Monster!" in complete terror, leaving both Belynda disoriented and the Gargoyle standing there a bit puzzled. Belynda started looking about desperately seeking a weapon or an exit.

"Please don't run!" the shadowy apparition said in a gentle, feminine voice. "I mean you no harm." The creature then folded its wings about itself like a living cloak, interlocking the wing digits as a clasp. "Please do not fear me."

"Who or is it what, are you?" Belynda asked fearfully.

"That is not important. Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?" it asked, concern deep in the creature's voice. "I can take you to the hospital if necessary."

"Not really, just shaken up. Really, I'm ok. I'm sure I will hurt worse tomorrow," Belynda replied, curiosity deepening. Suddenly, she cocked her head and her eyes narrowed as something clicked in her mind. "You were out on the beach."

"Yes I was. Had I not been, I doubt that you would be here talking to me now. The police have those three creeps in custody." 

"OK, you have a point," Belynda conceded, "Thank you very much. I mean that." Suddenly, a strange expression crossed Belynda's face. She smiled. "You're a Gargoyle, aren't you? I remember reading about that clan of Gargoyles in Manhattan, but I didn't know there were Gargoyles in San Francisco."

"There are now." The Gargoyle sweetly replied with a smile.

* * *

The terminator, the boundary line between dusk and night slowly crossed Manhattan on its relentless westward journey as it has done for millennia. Cracks began to spread over the surface of the seven stone gargoyles perched high atop Castle Wyvern, white light escaping through the numerous cracks as the creatures within emerged from stone sleep in an eerie concert of screeching roars and the always impressive displays of their wings. Few humans these days ever saw the magic that occurred every evening at sunset. Elisa Maza was one of the few, and despite the fact she had been seeing this spectacle for years, she was always amazed and fascinated. Her fascination was deepest for the largest of the seven, the hulking but gentle giant, Goliath, the Gargoyle who held the key to her heart. 

Broadway and Hudson descended from their parapets and entered the castle's interior in search of food. Angela came up and hugged her father and then bounded off to join Broadway and Hudson, Bronx following behind as usual. Elisa followed Goliath to where Lexington was perched and arrived just as he jumped down from the stone parapet, his face alive with eager excitement.

"Lexington," Goliath asked as he smiled at his technical wizard, "What were you trying to tell me last night?"

"We need to go to the lab. It's all on the computer." Lex said as he bounded off to the computer room on all fours. Goliath and Elisa followed the excited Gargoyle. By the time they arrived at the computer lab, Lex had already had the computers ready with data scrolling in one screen and a picture in the other. "I got some interesting news from San Francisco from the police nets last night. An Inspector Fujimori had asked for specific data regarding any cases involving crushed firearms."

"That sure sounds familiar," Elisa commented with a smile. Elisa remembered how Goliath crushed her first service weapon into scrap on their first encounter back in 1994. Goliath had a way of making impressive entrances, and in Elisa's case, even then she knew there was something special about the blue giant so aptly named. She also fondly remembered the hell she went through to get a replacement from Captain Chavez. One doesn't tell a police captain that a winged blue monster crushed their pistol and still expect to carry a badge. It was only the beginning of a parade of service weapons lost since she met Goliath. It had become such a regular occurrence that Captain Chavez joked that Elisa had become a member of the Gun of the Month Club.

"They also sent some pictures of some strange footprints at a crime scene. Three losers tried to rape a girl, and the SF cops found them beaten badly and tied up. Does this look familiar?" Lex proudly stated as he called up an image. Elisa and Goliath looked dumbfounded. 

"That's a Gargoyle footprint!" Elisa exclaimed, "There are Gargoyles in San Francisco?"

"Could be Demona," Lexington commented, "San Francisco can well do without her."

"Unlikely that Demona would limit her damage to only three humans," Goliath commented as he folded his massive wings about his body, hooking the claws together.

"Goliath's right," Elisa remarked, "I can see her bombing Fisherman's Wharf or lasering up a crowded stadium, but not clobbering three rapists and neatly packaging them up for SFPD."

"Aye!" replied Hudson, as he licked a morsel off his claw, "That sounds more like something one of us would do. Goliath, the lass is right. I really don't think it was Demona. We may have a new clan on our hands."

"Or maybe just one Gargoyle," Elisa remarked. "Do you think we need to head over to San Francisco?"

"Do we dare not?" Lexington chimed in, concern deep in his voice, "What if they emerged from the same kind of spell like we did? They are going to need our help to adjust to this century! Don't we always help our kind, even if we are not the same clan?" Lexington's gaze then fell in his leader and then to Hudson.

"Aye lad, that we do," Hudson replied wistfully as he stroked his white beard, eyes reflecting deep thought, "T'would be good to meet more of our kind."

"Did I hear right?" interjected an excited Brooklyn as he was walking by, "There's Gargoyles in San Francisco?" Hudson nodded affirmatively as he polished off his Broadway concocted breakfast bagel, belching loudly. 

"Now there was a breakfast!" Hudson remarked with a satisfied grin as he patted his now-filled belly.

"Lex is right," Goliath declared as he turned to his mate, "Elisa, I will need you in case we have problems with the police there. Brooklyn: you, Broadway and Bronx will remain here and guard the castle. Angela, Lex and I will head to San Francisco." Goliath then placed his hand on Hudson's shoulder, "Old friend, I will need you and most likely, so will they as well. Your wisdom will be missed if you remain here." The old Gargoyle nodded once in solemn understanding.

* * *

Detective Bluestone was happy to get back to his office. It wouldn't have hurt his feelings if he never set foot inside a courtroom again. Especially after trials like this one. The defense attorney had subjected him to a brutal cross-examination that lasted well over two hours. _Damn lawyers must get paid by the word and by how much they can infuriate someone. _Still, despite the furious defense, Bluestone's testimony was rock-solid. He was consistently a solid witness despite his flaky reputation. _Chalk up another major felony conviction to Matt Bluestone! Stick that in your hat, Commissioner!_

He then noticed that his daemon had detected Inspector Fujimori's query. As he scanned the text data, he waited as the picture downloaded. Before the picture of the footprint was halfway finished, Bluestone recognized it as a Gargoyle footprint. _Gargoyles in San Francisco? _He knew that all of Goliath's clan was still in New York. _Hmmm. Could be Demona, but that doesn't make sense. Why on earth would she be out dealing with three lowlifes on a beach? _Like Elisa, he quickly figured out that the beach incident wasn't Demona's style. The thought of a rapist taking a crack at Demona brought a smile to his face. _Serve the idiot right. Anyone crazy enough to try to rape Demona would go from human to hamburger in about 4.7 seconds. _Obviously a new Gargoyle, but from where? Bluestone smiled. He might get a trip to San Francisco out of this deal. A vacation away from this madhouse precinct would be nice. 

* * *

Belynda's mind was in turmoil. Twice she nearly fell prey to violent crime, and both times this Gargoyle came to her rescue. Not that she wasn't grateful, but she wondered why this Gargoyle protecting her. As far as she remembered, the only place she heard that Gargoyles existed was in Manhattan. Was this one of Goliath's clan? Belynda stood in near amazement as she looked at her winged rescuer. The Gargoyle also noticed the expression on her face. 

"Is something wrong?"

"This makes two times you saved me from danger. Why?" As Belynda continued to study the Gargoyle, she noticed there was something familiar about her.

"You are clan," was all the Gargoyle would say.

"Clan? Are you saying we are related? What is your name?" Belynda was more confused than ever.

"My name is not important now, I will answer your questions in due time," The Gargoyle replied, "But I think we need to get out of this alley and into a place that is safer for the both of us."

"I can agree to that. Where are we going?"

"First we need to get to the roof. Hang on to my back." Belynda wrapped her arms around the Gargoyle's body. She was amazed at the grace and power this creature used to climb a solid brick wall. Once they ascended to the roof, the Gargoyle instructed her how to hold on and to listen carefully for any instructions. Belynda heard a soft snap as the Gargoyle spread her wings to their full five-meter spread.

The Gargoyle then leapt off the rooftop and caught a thermal rising from the street. She soon ascended to an altitude that allowed her to glide well above most of San Francisco's high-rises. Belynda was in total amazement, as she had never seen San Francisco from this perspective. Even if she never saw this Gargoyle again, she would be forever grateful for this ride tonight. It was the closest thing Belynda could imagine to having wings herself. All the pain and hell her life had been in recent years now forgotten as she enjoyed this wonderful experience. Ten minutes later, Belynda and the Gargoyle landed on the roof of a building in the Financial District.

Belynda climbed down from the Gargoyle onto the roof of the building. She was still in a strange mental state consisting of both a state of shock and one of euphoria from the flight, she also felt tired and decided to sit down on a box-like structure on the rooftop. The Gargoyle smiled and folded her wings in cloak fashion. As Belynda's mental state began to return to something resembling normal, she began to study the Gargoyle in more detail. A shocked expression spread across Belynda's face.

"My God! Jaqui is that you?"

"Now to answer your questions, little sister." the Gargoyle replied with a smile. Jaqui related how she had drifted all over the country when their father booted her out. As she wandered, she showed up in New Orleans and met a strange woman who ran a curio shop of sorts that specialized in very unusual items and theatrical supplies. It was the kind of odd shop one often sees in cheesy television horror stories. The proprietor of the store was also a very odd and theatrical woman named Victoria. She always wore an elaborate catwoman costume with angel wings, and spoke with a heavy English accent. Her face was done so perfectly one could swear she was born a catwoman. 

Jaqui later learned that Victoria was not what she appeared to be, nor what Jaqui thought she was. As she befriended the unusual woman, she eventually got hired by Victoria and worked in her store part time during the daylight hours. Though Victoria only appeared at the store at night, few people ever noticed anything odd about that. Most of the patrons of the store were pretty odd by the mainstream society's standards and most hung out at the coffee shop next door. During the slow times, Jaqui would pull out one of the hundreds of old books and texts there and read.

As she acquired knowledge, she began to realize that there was more to Victoria than her wild costume. She soon learned about Gargoyles, dragons and fey. She became fascinated with the whole subject of Gargoyles and their roles as protectors. As she learned more, the more she became infuriated with mankind for what they did to Gargoyles. Oddly enough, she could not bring herself to hate humanity, for she was human too. One night, she asked Victoria if she was a Gargoyle, and she nodded affirmatively. 

"Jaqui my child," Victoria sighed, "My time here is almost done. I will soon enter the gateway and await my return later on. I have known for some time that you are part Gargoyle yourself, and now you have a choice to make. Your co-worker Daniel is one as well."

"That Prophecy story I read in one really old book you got from that oddball old Scot a few months ago." 

"Correct, my dear." Victoria replied with a knowing smile, "Dairmid McKenzie and I go back quite a ways. What you don't know about Dairmid is that he was known by another name in the Eleventh Century. He is probably Scotland's best-known king save Robert the Bruce." 

"The only other king of Scotland I have ever heard of was Macbeth," Jaqui replied with interest deepening.

"You are such a bright child," Victoria replied with a knowing smile, "In fact, Dairmid, or should I say Macbeth, is still alive today in New York. At one time, a Gargoyle that he named Demona served as one of his key advisers. Unfortunately, she betrayed him and as a result, her clan was destroyed. According to him, she is also still very much alive, cursed by the strange immortality spell that keeps Macbeth alive to this day."

"Do you think she is connected in any way with those Gargoyles I heard about in Manhattan?"

"Very much indeed, my child. According to Macbeth, she was once Goliath's mate, but they are not exactly sociable these days. Macbeth says Demona is suffering from some kind of dementia and she regards humanity as a threat to Gargoyle survival. I pray that you never cross paths with her, but should that unfortunate event occur, do not trust her, nor allow anyone else you know to."

"Demona must live an awfully lonely and tormented life."

"Sadly, she does," Victoria sighed with understanding, "As for you, I do not need the Dragon Stone that the Prophecy speaks of. I am fully capable of transforming you into a Gargoyle if you wish. Daniel has already agreed to be transformed, and he will continue to run my store. I do not see you doing something like that, for I know you miss your sister, and you are determined to find her. Although I would dearly love for you to stay here and work with Daniel, I understand if you do not wish to do so. A Gargoyle's drive and desire to protect their clan is strong and mostly instinct for the most part. It would be both foolish and futile for me to change what is our very essence. As for your sister, I have learned some things. I know is that she is in San Francisco, and one day you will meet again. Heed this warning! Once you allow me to cast the spell, there is no reversal. Your sister may not accept you."

"I do not think that will be a problem," Jaqui replied with a knowing smile. With that said, Victoria cast the spell and Jaqui emerged as a Gargoyle. Much to the surprise of Victoria, Jaqui emerged with the bat-style wings of the Scottish Gargoyle, and not feathered wings of the English variety. Four months later, she was gliding her way by light of Luna across the United States to San Francisco. 

"Wow, that's some story!" Belynda replied with awe. Belynda stood up and approached her sister and wrapped her arms about her in a warm embrace. Jaqui responded with her own embrace, followed by wrapping her soft wings around Belynda. Tears soon began to flow as Belynda just held her and reveling in the loving embrace of her sister and the cozy warmth of her wings. Belynda then looked into her sister's eyes and saw her tears glinting in the moonlight. "First of all Jaqui, Gargoyle or not, you are still my sister and sisters stick together." 

The two sisters began catching up on each other's lives, losing all track of time. A beeping noise came from Jaqui's wristwatch. "Sunrise is thirty minutes away. I need to get you off this rooftop and I need to get home." Belynda climbed on her sister's back and Jaqui leapt once gain into the sky. She dropped her sister off near City Hall and once again climbed up to a rooftop and launched herself into the night.

* * *

Lady Morvyn then taught Viper and Ariel how to wrap their wings about them in cloak form. She explained to them that even though that they would look a bit odd, San Francisco is probably the most tolerant city in the world as far as personal expression goes. You really had to do something totally outrageous to get noticed. There was little chance of being seen at 3:00AM, but if they did get spotted, not too many would say much about it. 

Tombstone, Ariel, Viper, Cynthia and Lady Morvyn headed out of Viper's apartment and walked to an apartment building near the Financial District. This particular building was old enough to where five stone Gargoyles would not be out of place. Though the building had a security gate and electronic locks, getting to the roof was easy. Lady Morvyn explained how Gargoyles could climb up most anything to gain enough height to use their wings. Ariel was amazed that she could sink her talons into the solid brick wall with the ease of sticking a tack into corkboard. Viper and Ariel then carried the others up to the roof. 

"Can you teach me how to use my wings?" Ariel asked with something of a bit of giddiness of a schoolgirl as she experimented with them as though a new toy.

"Not yet, my child," Lady Morvyn replied in a maternal way, "I need to have my ability to glide as well. Unlike you, I still remember the skills and experiences I had when I was a Gargoyle all those ages ago. None of you have. I need to train you before one of you hits a building at three hundred kilometers an hour. 

"Listen to me," Lady Morvyn continued, "You will find your feelings will change when you are a Gargoyle. In the ancient past, Gargoyles formed clans for mutual protection. Usually this was instilled the moment a hatchling becomes old enough to teach. Much of it is instinct as well. A Gargoyle lives to protect. It is what our purpose is, and it is our instinct as well. It is as much a part of us as blood, bone, wing and claw. To be otherwise is to be corrupt and without purpose."

"I wonder what I will look like as a Gargoyle?" Tombstone mused. 

"I don't even want to think about it," Cynthia shot back, "Although I do admit there is a kind of sexiness to it though. Viper and Ariel are still very pretty in their own unique way despite the Gargoyle bit."

Lady Morvyn was glancing toward the east when she saw the beginnings of dawn on the horizon. She then instructed Viper and Ariel to take a position and told them how to pose to appear as though they were originally part of the building structure as classic gargoyles. As she was instructing Cynthia and Tombstone about what was to happen, she glanced once again to the east and saw a shadow skate across the sky with a familiar grace and beauty she hadn't seen for centuries. _Did I just see another Gargoyle?_

"Now what do we do?" Inquired Cynthia, her voice deep with resentment.

"Tonight we rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us." Replied Lady Morvyn. 

Lady Morvyn again glanced eastward and wondered about the gliding apparition she saw. That was the last though on her mind as the air was filled with the sounds of crackling. All five were now stone.


	4. The Rescue

Clan04 __

This is a story is based on the Gargoyles universe created by Greg Wiseman and Michael Reaves. Gargoyles and related characters are registered trademarks of Buena Vista Television and Walt Disney Studios. The stories and characters not described above are original creations of T'Layna MacMathain, and Poison Thorns Productions. Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.

Resurrection

****

By

T'Layna MacMathain

Chapter 4

__

The Rescue

There was something dark and foreboding about today. I should have stayed home in bed, the twenty-three-year-old strawberry blonde woman with the emerald eyes thought. Of all the screwed up shitty luck, she thought grimly. Serena Danfield was dying. She could feel the warm stickiness of her blood soaking her blouse from the bullet wounds in her side and shoulder. Serena weakly reached up to her bloody shoulder, oblivious to the pain as she felt her energy slowly leaving her. She also saw the other two people, both quite dead.

The day started out innocuously enough. After a modest breakfast of cereal, coffee and orange juice, Serena dressed in a pair of black jeans and a powder blue tank top with three kittens embroidered across the front. As she finished off the final touches, she began thinking of her school day. She was hoping Professor Keller in her math class was in a better mood, not that the old fart ever lightened up. As the day progressed, school proved to be pretty much a typical day for her. She then went home to get ready for work. An hour later, Serena caught the bus to the transfer point where she would catch another bus that would take her to work. While at the bus stop, she engaged in some chitchat with a young man and a woman her age already at the bus stop.

She noticed the black sedan heading down the street toward her, but paid little mind to it. She was looking for a bus to take her to work. She removed a CD player from her fanny pack and changed the CD. As she glanced up the street to check for the bus, the black sedan was now only fifty feet away when she saw the guns. She suddenly felt a tremendous force slam into her shoulder and side as her ears filled with the roar of semiautomatic weapon fire_. Damn, I finally get out of high school and into college and land a dream job in San Francisco only to be taken down in something as stupid as a drive-by shooting_. She began to cry.

As Serena lay bleeding to death, a well-dressed woman in a luxury car came down the lonely road and spotted the carnage. A highly successful executive running her own major corporation, she looked every bit the part. She was dressed in a conservative navy blue knee-length dress with matching jacket. Her deep red hair was carefully done in a style that both understated as much as it enhanced her natural beauty. Like most top executives running a multinational corporation, she had multiple offices scattered all over the world. This week, she had to be in San Francisco to personally supervise negotiations of a lucrative deal with four other major corporations.

Normally, the driver of the car couldn't have cared less to see three people shot up, but there was something about the young blonde woman that caught her eye. _How many times have I seen that look?_ She pulled over and got out of the car.

With the sadness of a wounded puppy, the wounded girl looked up at the red-haired executive. "Help me..." she weakly coughed. The woman examined the young college student and shook her head. She also felt a wave of internal conflict wash over her_. What is it with this girl and why does she move me so?_ The young woman was trying to speak again. "Help me...don't let me die alone...please." There was something in the way that Serena said that that moved the executive's otherwise remorseless, stone-cold heart. With a rarely seen tear of compassion, the executive spoke a few words in Latin and touched the girl with her now glowing hand. She then gathered up the severely wounded girl with surprising strength and placed her in her car. 

Serena drifted in and out of consciousness during the ride. She had no idea where she was, but assumed the mysterious woman was taking her to a hospital. She looked at the driver and weakly said "Thank you...my name...is...Serena...Danfield..." before lapsing into unconsciousness again. 

The executive's globetrotting business deals also required her to remain in various locations for varying periods. Like most travelling businesspersons, she soon grew tired of the hotel circuit. Unlike most traveling executives she was more than able to afford the residences she owned in fifteen cities scattered all across the planet. When the car pulled into the garage of the swanky high-rise apartment complex, the executive carried the unconscious woman into the private elevator that led to her penthouse. Once inside, she gently laid the injured woman on a bed.

The executive looked once again at the dying girl. She'll be lucky to live through the night. She reflected with a touch of sadness. She had no illusions about the extent of Serena's injuries. _So typical of the humans to kill their children. _Still, she could not get the girl's plea out of her mind. It was like some spell had been cast. _I will have to move fast if I am to save her._ At that moment, the proverbial light bulb lit up inside her mind. _She will be the perfect subject for my new spell._

The executive then went to another room in her spacious apartment. Unlike the other doors in her apartment, this one was equipped with an electronic lock. She spoke a few words into the lock's terminal and the door slid aside with a soft hiss. The room contained a laboratory of sorts. She then pulled a very old book from a shelf and opened it up and quickly flipped over to the desired page and quickly scanned the contents.

The executive laid the open book on the lab table, then went over to a cabinet and began collecting some powders, elixirs and herbs. She quickly mixed several powders and herbs together with several different liquids. The end result was a liquid that emitted a soft blue glow. She then sealed the bottle and closed the book. She then grabbed yet another vial of herbs and left her lab.

Serena had again awakened and saw executive had returned to her bedroom and began lighting some candles and a censer. "What are...you ...doing?" Serena asked, coughing between words. 

"No more questions. I am here to help." She then chanted a few words as she sprinkled an unknown herbal mixture on the charcoal in the censer. A few wisps of blue smoke soon issued forth from the holes in the brass censer. She then carried the censer to the girl. "Breathe the fumes. It will help with the pain." Serena did as she asked, taking in several whiffs of the mysterious sweet-smelling smoke. A deep feeling of calmness and serenity filled her pain-wracked body. She then handed the elixir to Serena, instructing her to swallow the contents. Serena looked briefly at her rescuer and weakly said "Thank you." 

The executive gently patted the wounded girl. "You will not die alone." Serena soon felt very sleepy, but was determined to find out who her rescuer was. With supreme effort of will, Serena asked the woman her name.

"My name is Dominique. Dominique Destine." Serena smiled again.

"Thank you so much, Dominique..." Serena drifted off into a deep sleep.

Dominique sighed and opened the ancient text and began reciting the terms of a spell in Latin. A soft blue glow enveloped Serena, then subsided. Serena had been turned into stone. Dominique though herself quite exhausted from the energy of casting her spell was satisfied with the results.

* * *

Nightfall descended a couple of hours later and Dominique once again went through the painful metamorphosis that would return her into her original form. She had no sooner returned to her Gargoyle form than she heard the sound of cracking stone.

A strikingly beautiful Gargoyle emerged from the stone shell with an ear-splitting roar. Serena was now a dark tan color with black wings with three-digit tips. Her head now sported two curved horns that gave her a very demonic appearance. Serena almost jumped at the sound of her roaring scream. _Did I make that awful noise? What happened to my voice?_ She then realized that she had indeed changed somehow. She immediately noticed her skin color had changed and that she had lost her hands and now had some kind of paws on each arm. As Serena began to take in the extent of her changes, she began to feel dizzy and started crying.

"Please do not be alarmed," a soft feminine voice said. Serena looked toward the source of the voice and found another creature not too dissimilar to her own form. She was a light blue color with red-black hair and dressed in a white loincloth and a matching white halter-top of some kind of animal skin with one shoulder. The creature also wore a gold crown and a gold arm bracelet on her upper left arm. She also had bat-like wings of purple.

"Who are you? Where's Dominique?" Serena asked nervously.

"I am Demona," she replied sweetly, "Dominique is my daytime form. At nightfall, I become a Gargoyle like you are."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" Serena screeched her eyes now aglow with red fire. Demona gently placed her paw on the girl's shoulder.

"I tried to heal your wounds, but the damage was too great. You were dying, and I decided to change you to a Gargoyle. It was the only way I could save your life." Demona gently reassured the confused young Gargoyle. Serena sighed as she relaxed and began crying again.

"I'm sorry, Demona," Serena sobbed, still very shaken, "I suppose I should thank you. All this was a bit much to handle at once." Serena then embraced Demona and began crying on her shoulder. Demona wrapped her soft wings around the young Gargess and gently caressed her head.

"Rest assured, Serena, I will never allow harm to come to you."

* * *

Elisa and the Gargoyles arrived just after midnight at SFO in one of David Xanatos' private jets. Goliath and his two companions slipped away in the shadows, climbed up the control tower and launched themselves into the night. Elisa collected the baggage in the terminal building and was heading to the taxi stand when she spotted a familiar man wearing a tan trench coat.

"Matthew Bluestone!" Elisa shouted. The man winced as he heard Elisa's voice. "Matt, what are you doing in San Francisco?" she demanded.

"Uh...I am on vacation. That Chinese smuggler case wore me out." He nervously replied.

"Yeah, right," Elisa snorted, "Matt...I know you...someone practically has to stick a gun to your head to get you to take your vacations. Now what is the REAL reason you are here?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Captain Chavez insisted," Bluestone replied defensively. Elisa narrowed her eyes and snorted derisively. _I'll believe that when alligators fly out of the sewers._ "What are YOU doing here, Elisa?"

"I'm here on special assignment," Elisa replied matter-of-factly. A taxi pulled up and the cabby began loading Elisa's baggage into the trunk.

"You came alone?" Matt replied, with one eye cocked suspiciously. Elisa chuckled.

"You should know better, Matt," she sweetly replied as she entered the cab, closing the door in Matt's face and ending the conversation on the note of the slamming cab door. 

Unbeknownst to the two New York detectives, another New Yorker was discretely observing them as well. Jerry O'Connor was about fifteen feet away and immediately recognized both detectives. _Hmmm that's Elisa Maza, and there's always something going on with her. _He was also well aware of the fact that wherever Maza went, Goliath and his clan was never far behind. _Sunshine was right...something's going on here, and I am going to find out!_

* * *

Inspector Fujimori was furious. He was scanning the NCIC reports that came in from NYPD. _None of this crap makes any damned sense!_ As he continued reading, the stranger the content of the report became_. Whatever they are smoking in the Big Apple's a lot better than the weed here in SF._ Inspector Fujimori chuckled at his joke, but the chuckle turned into a frown when he came across the pictures. Picture One looked almost exactly like the footprint he found at the beach, only larger. Picture Two depicted the source of Picture One. Namely a brown, muscular, winged humanoid with a beaked face; two long horns and white hair. According to the photo data, the creature was quite powerful. _Damn Sam! I'd hate to meet that joker without a tank!_

The data also said the winged creature had a name: Brooklyn. Still, he could not deny the picture of the footprint and a picture of the creature that made the footprint. Are there Gargoyles in San Francisco? The evidence sure pointed in that direction. According to the file, all these Gargoyles had run-ins with the law, but nothing they could be convicted of, though some of the charges were quite serious.

There were other pictures as well depicting the entire Manhattan clan. There was also one other picture as well: A very attractive blue Gargoyle with red-black hair named Demona. As he scanned her file, his stomach began churning. _Jesus Christ, this one could give Hitler lessons in mass murder and death._ A thought crossed his mind and he picked up the phone.

"Maggie, this is Inspector Fujimori in Sex Crimes. I need you to call NYPD and get in touch with a Detective Elisa Maza and a Detective Matt Bluestone in Manhattan. I'm going downstairs to Forensics. Call me the minute you get word." 

* * *

Trucido was born in darkness: not the warm, safe darkness of the womb or rookery, but a fetid, dank place that reeked of evil, misery and death. For more than thousand years, he resided in a special kind of darkness. Though Trucido was a creature of the dark, this dark place was one he hated and despised. He was not here by choice. In fact, he was trapped here. Like all prisons, if there is a way in, there is a way out. Trucido knew this, and one day he would be free once again to wreak havoc on the world and the people who sent him here to be lost and forgotten. Unknown to him, and to the world at large, his rescuer was plotting his release.

* * *

Dr. Eddie Quinn looked every bit the mad scientist type. Like most scientific types, he wore a stained lab coat with his ID badge on front if it. The horn-rimmed glasses with the large lenses gave him the bookworm look one would expect of a classic scientist. Though he was well over six feet tall with unkempt sandy blonde hair, he was very slender in build. As a result, he was known to most as the "Beanpole Brainiac" by most of his colleagues in Forensics. Though his look was somewhat comical, there was nothing funny about his mind. Dr. Quinn was quite sharp and thought unconventionally, a skill that comes in very useful to urban police departments like San Francisco PD.

"Hi Inspector!" Quinn replied with a grin.

"Hello, Dr. Quinn," Inspector Fujimori replied as he laid a stack of papers in front of Quinn, "I have a problem. These pics came from an NCIC run from NYPD. This one over here is a footprint from a 261 at the beach a few nights ago. Can you give me a work-up on the size of the creature that made this print and compare it with the ones in these pics?"

"Sure, Inspector. Give me a day or two."

"There was a black backpack found at the scene. It was black nylon, medium sized and had a bird finger on the back."

"That one was easy," Quinn replied, "though it didn't have any ID on it, there were prints aplenty. The pack belongs to Belynda Flores, age 23, Caucasian male-to-female transsexual. She was picked up a year ago on suspicion of shoplifting, but released due to lack of evidence. Judging from the contents of her pack, I'd say she is homeless."

"How do you come to those conclusions?"

"One, there was two bottles of estrogen inside with her name and prints. The prescriptions are valid. My lover is a transsexual, and she takes the same kind of pills in similar dosages. Secondly, the pack's contents are consistent with a camping or homeless shelter lifestyle. There were two blankets, a plastic tarp, a battery-powered lantern, a couple of pieces of nylon rope about 3 meters long and a camper's knife. There was a lot of grass stains on her blankets. I also found bed lottery tickets from one of the shelters."

"Any other drugs?"

"Marijuana, 2.2 grams in a plastic box. You do have a drug charge here."

"Not really...no direct evidence," the Inspector sighed, "She can say we planted it. Considering the charge is a misdemeanor, it's hardly worth the effort. We need to find her and pick her up."

"What charge?"

"Material witness. I think she's the vic in this case." Quinn nodded in understanding as Inspector Fujimori's cell phone rang.

"Fujimori here."

"Inspector, I just got off the line with NYPD," Maggie continued, "Detective Bluestone is on vacation, whereabouts unknown. Detective Maza is here in San Francisco on special assignment."

"See if you can run down Maza and ask her to come to my office or call me."

"No problem, Inspector," Maggie replied sweetly.

* * *

Demona and Serena spent the early part of the evening learning flight instruction and some basic training about the mechanics of Gargoyle flight and combat. Serena proved to be a very adept student as she absorbed Demona's instruction with the eagerness of any Gargoyle hatchling. Though shocked and even angry at first, Serena soon fell in love with her new form and the ability to fly. _This sure beats the hell at listening to Professor Keller's droning voice at school or that bitch Mrs. Long. _Much to Demona's delight, Serena showed all the classic instincts that any Gargoyle would.

Demona herself was going through a lot of emotional changes as she instructed her new student. For the first time in more than nine centuries, she felt a maternal bond that she thought had been lost centuries ago with Macbeth's betrayal. _With my new spell, I will have a clan of my own, and I will teach them properly. We will restore our rightful place on this human infested world, and we will rule this world as we were meant to. Goliath and his clan had better just beware!_ Four hours later, Serena and Demona landed on a rooftop in San Francisco's Outer Richmond district. 

"How are you feeling, my young student?"

"I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, Demona. At first, I was very angry with you for what you did to me, but as I felt the wind under my wings, I felt more natural and at ease with myself than I have ever known. Please don't feel offended, I am very grateful for you saving my life, but I am so confused."

"I would be surprised if you weren't," admitted Demona with a warm smile, "The spell I cast on you would have only worked if you had Gargoyle blood in your ancestry. Apparently, one of your ancient ancestors mated with one of my kind, and their descendents carried the genetic trait through your bloodline. Your instincts are also very much Gargoyle. I have merely returned you to your true form."

"I'm also feeling a very strong attachment to you. Granted, you saved my life, and I will always be forever grateful, but I am also feeling a very powerful bond with you. I see you as more like a mother figure. I don't know why." Demona smiled.

"That is also your Gargoyle instincts coming to the fore. Gargoyles instinctively form clans for mutual protection. We are natural-born protectors, and we live to defend and protect our clan. In a Gargoyle clan, all Gargoyles protect and nurture each other. We don't have families in the sense of humans, where each human child is cared for by the parents that bore them. In a Gargoyle clan, all the adults care and nurture the young as well as each other. Oddly enough, family lineage is not important to Gargoyles. Many of us often do not know exactly who our parents were. We are raised in a common rookery, cared for and protected by the adult Gargoyles."

"What happens if a hatchling's parents get killed?"

"It doesn't matter, my child. The other adults assume responsibility for raising the hatchling. Unlike humans, we never abandon our hatchlings...ever. Even within a rookery, Gargoyle hatchlings bond and will protect each other from threats, real or perceived. We refer to those that were in the rookery with us are 'rookery brother' or 'rookery sister'." Demona smiled with delight as Serena's eyes took on an ominous red glow.

"I can't see how so many people can let their children suffer if their parents are unable to care for them," Serena spat angrily.

"Humans care little for their own young," Demona sadly replied, "Never trust humans fully...ever. They are a treacherous species." Demona then explained to her how humans betrayed Demona's clan at both Castle Moray and at Castle Wyvern. Demona's story was interrupted on several occasions by angry growls by Serena. 

"Wow! That explains a lot. I do feel very protective of you."

"As I do with you, my child," Demona replied lovingly, "I will also destroy this planet if necessary to protect you. As far as I am concerned, you are clan, and Gargoyles defend their clan until their final breath." Serena embraced Demona and wrapped her wings around the ancient Gargess and kissed her gently on the cheek."

"As long as I live, Demona, I will also protect and defend you until my life ends. I swear it with all my heart." Demona's only response was a silent tear from her eyes.

* * *

Goliath, Hudson and Angel had remained in low orbit over SFO until they spotted Elisa entering the cab and silently followed the taxi as it sped its way from the airport. About thirty minutes later, the cab let Elisa off at the downtown hotel she was to stay at during her time in San Francisco. Once Elisa was safely ensconced in her room, the three Manhattan Gargoyles spent much of the night gliding around looking for the presence of the other Gargoyles that was alluded to back in New York. They paid no attention to the fact that another taxi followed Elisa's cab all the way to her hotel. 

* * *

Eldon Farris was having a bad day. First of all, his boss had been nothing but an asshole all day long. It seemed like the sadistic bastard went out of his way to make today a living hell for him. As his workday went on, his boss became even more abrasive and abusive. When five o'clock rolled around, his boss called him into his office and fired him. When Eldon asked him why, his boss responded with a string of scathing insults and abuse. Eldon responded by punching his boss viciously in the nose, breaking it.

When he drove home, he stopped into a local bar and had a couple of stiff drinks. As it often happens with alcohol, instead of relaxing him, it only made him angrier. Less than two miles from the bar, he got rear-ended while waiting for a traffic light. When he saw the damage done to his precious car, he exploded in anger and struck the woman in the jaw with his fist, then savagely beat the poor woman into unconsciousness. He then returned to his car and drove off into the waning daylight.

"I'll have my revenge on them all!" Eldon screamed.


End file.
